Chapter 10

"FORD!"

Stanford whipped his head towards sound of his brother's strained voice. He looked around - where was he? Everywhere he looked was an endless stretch of whiteness… of nothing.

"Ford, you gotta help me! Please!" Stanley's voice cried again, the desperation like that a drowning man. Where was he? Ford spun around in place, until Stan appeared in front of him, just a few steps away.

Ford reached out for his brother, smiling as he took a step forward, only to balk as the floor seemed to stretch out before him. Another step… and Stanley cried louder.

Ford broke into a frantic run, his brother desperately calling out to him, his voice reverberating off of invisible walls. With every step Ford took, Stanley only grew further and further away. As the air grew colder, the white floor beneath Stanford froze and became thick, freshly fallen snow.

Ford trudged on, shivering as he caught his breath, waist deep in snow that was slowly freezing into solid ice. He couldn't stop now… not when his brother needed him! Stanley's cries only grew louder, filling Ford's head like water.

"Alright, Ford, time's up!"

Oh no… !

Ford panicked as he tried to leap forward, only to be wrestled back by extensions of Bill's arms, coiling around him like ravenous vipers and pulling him down through the snow. His cries mixed with those of his brother's as the snow melted and shifted beneath him, turning into sand.

The coils were gone, and Ford's arms and legs were freed as he swum in the small sea of sand that surrounded him. He could see his reflection before his eyes… in what looked like glass. Ford gasped as he looked up, the glass growing up and outwards before stopping at a heavy, stone lid. He was in an hourglass…

Ford banged desperately on the glass barrier as he stared at his brother, standing alone on the white floor outside Ford's prison. The sun was growing in the sky, and Stan was starting to sweat.

No, that wasn't sweat… he was MELTING.

"Ford! HELP ME!" Stan cried, then gurgled as his skin melted off of his flesh like candle-wax. Ford screamed as he banged harder and clawed at the glass, his vision blurred as tears cascaded down his face.

Something was happening… Stan's body was changing shape and growing enormously, taking on a somewhat more... triangular appearance. Ford looked up in horror as an enormous, flesh-covered Bill Cipher stood before the hourglass, and something was squirming in his giant, clenched fist.

"I've got the kids!"

"No, no, you can't! Dipper! Mabel!" Ford cried uselessly, sinking like a stone into the sand.

"I think I'm gonna KILL one of 'em now just for the heck of it!"

Ford stretched his head up as he tried to keep the sand out of his eyes, being pulled ever downwards, his fate inescapable. Bill looked right into Ford's eyes as the kids screamed.

"EENIE, MEENIE, MINIE…"

"Morning!"

Ford screamed as he jolted up in the armchair, catching his breath as he frantically scanned the room for the source of the voice.

There was no one there. Sunlight streamed in through the window, lighting the room in calming shades of earthy browns and greens. It did little to soothe the man, though, as a frantic question froze him to his core.

WHERE WAS BILL?

The room started spinning and his vision blurred as Ford tried to get a hold of himself. Where had Bill had gone? When had he managed to sneak out? How long had Ford been asleep? It felt like he'd only closed his eyes for a second...

Ford jumped as someone knocked on the door. He shot out of the chair, gritting his teeth as his sore muscles resisted the sudden movement. He swiftly flattened himself against the wall, ready to get the jump on whoever was there...

"Morning, Stanford! It's Helga! Are you in there?"

Ford let out a heavy sigh of relief as he took a step back, attempted to compose himself, and opened the door. Helga tried to smile, despite the ragged and distraught appearance of her guest. It looked like he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, and he was still wearing the torn, bloody clothing from the previous night. "We, uh… we didn't want you to miss breakfast, Stanford! I made American pancakes for your last day here! Stanley insisted that he wait for you to join us before eating - he's downstairs at the table right now!"

He was WHAT?

Ford's senses were on high alert as he moved with trepidation down the stairs, the wood creaking predictably under his weight with every step. Helga had already gone back downstairs as Ford had rushed into his own room, clamoring through his suitcase for a clean change of clothes. There wasn't much he could do in the way of his bloodshot eyes and bruised face, but at least he wasn't covered in dried mud and congealed blood anymore. He'd wanted to crawl out the window when he'd actually taken a look at himself in the mirror that morning - he looked like he'd been through a war.

Which he had, and currently was.

The house wasn't on fire… that, at least, was a good sign. Ford peered around the corner nervously as he reached the foot of the stairs, trying to muster as much normalcy as he could as he finally laid eyes on the dining room.

Bill, seated stiffly at the table with an untouched mug of coffee in his hand, practically turned his head 180 degrees as he met Ford's paralysed stare in the doorway. He grinned toothily at Ford, a vision of the cheshire cat.

"Morning, Sixer!" he chirped as he set down the mug, and narrowed his eyes just the slightest bit, so only Ford could see the smug satisfaction on his face. "Get much sleep last night?"

Ford could feel his muscles writhing as he stood there in shock, trying to will himself to walk over and take a seat next to his 'brother' at the table... rather than throwing himself at the demon and beating the living daylights out of him instead.

Under Helga and Arthur's watchful eyes from the kitchen, he chose the former.

Positioning the chair as far away as possible from his possessed brother, Ford took a seat at the table's edge and coldly answered Bill's question. "More than I thought I would."

Helga smiled cheerfully as she set down a stack of steaming pancakes onto the table, along with a jar of honey and a small bowl of whipped cream. Ford supposed they didn't have Mountie Man syrupin Iceland.

"These look wonderful, thank you, Helga," Ford said as she and Arthur sat down at the table, before turning to literally gawk at 'Stan' as he started grabbing pancakes off the platter with his bare hands and tearing into them like a caveman eating raw meat.

Ford coughed into his fist a bit too loudly and forcefully as he quickly locked eyes with Bill, and proceeded to demonstrate how it was done when you were a civilised human. Ford took the silver thongs from the table, used them to drop a couple of pancakes onto his plate, dressed them with honey, and used his fork and knife to consume pieces of it. Bill watched him with wide eyes, trying his best to imitate Ford as Bill fumbled with the thongs. These human rituals were so needlessly complicated…

"Have all the arrangements been made for your flight home?" Helga asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe. Bill didn't look up from his plate, far too busy slathering his pancakes in whipped cream, and opted to let Ford answer the question. How kind of him.

"Uh, yes," Ford responded as Helga passed him the coffee. Ford was going to need twice as much of the brew today by the looks of it, and maybe a flask of some Icelandic liquor for good measure. "The flight leaves at 7:00 tonight, so we need to get to the airport by 5:00 at the latest."

"You can count on me to give you a ride over there, like always," Arthur answered them with a kind smile.

"Question," Bill interjected, his words garbled from the pancake in his mouth. "My poor, injured brother over here had to ditch his bag of science junk yesterday while he was running from the reindeer." Ford bit his tongue as he practically twitched. "Would it be possible to make a stop on the way there before we leave for the, uh... flight terminal?"

"No problem at all," Arthur answered, reaching for more honey. "I can catch up on my boating magazines in the car while I wait for you!"

"We'll have to be more careful this time, won't we, Ford?" Bill spoke with feigned concern, as he looked over to his brother with a glint in his eye. Ford immediately averted his gaze to the tablecloth, trying to stay calm. Drops of coffee were falling from the mug in his quivering hand, staining the white doilies on the delicate linen. He took a sip, closing his eyes.

It wasn't even like Ford could suggest that he fetch his bag by himself - he didn't trust Bill to be left alone with Arthur in the car. Ford was left without options - he'd be alone, with Bill, out on the frozen landscape again, while Arthur's head was buried in a magazine.

Just perfect.

"Read em and weep boys!" Stan laughed heartily as he slammed his cards down on the stone floor, finally revealing his hand - a royal flush. Teeth and Eightball groaned as Stanley reeled in his pile of chips gleefully. "I am on fire today! Ugh, actually scrap that, not too keen on that mental picture... Anyway, you two losers wanna play another round?"

"Hey, we may not be real, but we're not stupid," Teeth chuckled, his ego a little bruised.

"Yeah, you've already beat us, like, six times," Eightball complained, throwing his cards into the pile just outside the crisscrossing bars of Stan's cage. Stan reached through the gap and started shuffling the deck.

"Oh, come on, guys! Best seven outta… what's it now, thirteen? Wait, how would that work with three people..."

"We shouldn't anyway…" Teeth said nervously, wobbling on his little legs as he stood up. "The boss is gonna be back soon. We don't wanna get in trouble with Bill, fraternizing with the prisoner and all." Eightball took a quick look around to make sure no one was rolling in. Stan found himself sweating as he thought about what getting in trouble meant, exactly.

"You guys wouldn't rat out your good pal Stanley... right?" he asked with a nervous grin, absentmindedly leafing through the deck of cards. The two monsters looked to each other.

"We won't say nothin' if you don't!" Teeth responded with a shrug. Stan sighed with relief as he took a seat on the ground, leaning back against the bars of the cage, while Bill's freaks stood guard just outside of it.

The air was stiff as the three of them stewed in silence. Somebody coughed.

"Well, this isn't working for me," Stan complained. "Quick - somebody crack a joke or something before I lose my mind." Teeth chuckled under his breath.

"I'm pretty sure you already lost your mind, Stan… Bill's got it now!" he exclaimed with a flourish of his waving hands.

Stan frowned… before bursting into laughter.

"HA! That's a good one, Dentures! Ya got me there!" he laughed, wagging his finger at the monster. His smile fell, though, the more he thought about it. "Heh… seems kinda stupid, doesn't it? Having you guys here to watch over me, and a cage and all that, if this isn't even my own mind anymore..."

"The boss is probably just being careful," Eightball guessed with a shrug.

"Yeah - considering what happened the last time you two were alone in here, Bill probably just doesn't wanna take any chances," Teeth said, yawning as he stretched out his little legs.

"Chances shmances… sounds to me like the big guy's scared of me," Stan grinned, cocking an eyebrow. The monsters looked to each other nervously. "I wonder if his big, stupid eye's still sore from old-righty over here." Stan smirked as he punched his right fist into the pack of cards in his left hand. Teeth and Eightball had grown silent - guess the conversation was over.

Stan sighed as he fingered through the deck of cards in his hand, tracing his finger over the top card on the pile - the ace of spades. He frowned as he flipped the card over - a simple red-dotted pattern on the back, with a black symbol in the middle… one that kinda looked like the symbol on his old fez. Stan turned his head towards Eightball.

"Hey, Greenie - where'd you get this deck of cards from anyway?" Stan asked curiously. The tall freak scratched his head as he thought about it.

"Dunno… just appeared, I guess," he responded as he thought back. "After you asked if anybody had any."

Teeth's teeth started chattering as he suddenly punched Eightball in the arm and whispered something furiously to him.

Stanley creased his brow - something was up.

His back turned to the freaks, Stanley fanned out the deck and searched out the king of hearts, plucking it out carefully. There, with a crown on his head, was his own, smirking face.

He dropped the card as his hands went stiff with shock. He looked over to the other corner of the cage, where the three of them had discarded the jokers before they'd started playing. On every one was a bright yellow triangle.

"Just appeared, eh?" Stan remarked quietly to himself, before smiling slyly and standing up, looking to Eightball with as innocent an expression as a con-man could muster. "Hey, Slim - you got a hair pin I could borrow?"

The goodbye had been tough, but ultimately painless. Stan hadn't unpacked much before he… changed, so Ford just stuffed whatever clothes and toiletries he could find into Stan's suitcase, threw his own suitcase together, and passed them off to Arthur so he could pack them in the trunk of his car. Ford had just wished he could've thrown Bill in there along with the luggage.

Helga had given Ford a warm send-off hug and a kiss on the cheek. She had wondered aloud why Stan hadn't said goodbye before running out to the car. Ford passed off the reasonable excuse that his 'brother' wasn't very good with goodbyes.

The car ride out to the ice fields hadn't been too bad either. Arthur was a quiet man to begin with, so he didn't question the silence in the backseat. A thin, stretched smile had marked Bill's face for the entirety of the ride, and he kept glancing over in Ford's direction every few seconds like a maniac. Ford held his gaze straight ahead, not biting.

Then the car had stopped, Ford had politely thanked Arthur and told him they should be back in half an hour, and the brothers shuffled out of the small car and onto the snowy fields.

That had been five minutes ago.

Boots crunched on the ice as Ford kept a steady pace, focussed on the mission as he looked ahead to the cliff face where the Huldufolk were keeping his bag. The mission was simple, really - get the bag, get back to the car. Simple, and required no talking.

Bill sighed loudly from behind him.

Ford payed no attention to the demon as he trudged on, a few paces ahead of Bill, feet dragging through the slush. Another ten minutes of this uncomfortableness and they'd be at the...

"Sure brings back memories, huh?" Bill interjected cheerily. Ford squeezed his eyes shut as a grumble escaped his lips. He was not going to take the bait, not going to take the bait. "Feels like only yesterday when I threw Stan out of his own mind and punched you in the face… oh, wait! It was!"

Ford willed his legs to keep moving. He was not going to give Bill the satisfaction of a response. Bill stayed at an even pace just behind his 'twin.'

"Nice day, isn't it?" Bill spoke again, looking up at the sky as a bird flew overhead. Ford kept walking. "Seriously, I'm asking - I don't know what you upright-apes deem as preferable atmospheric conditions, seeing as my definition of 'nice weather' includes a bit more… screaming."

More silence.

"Especially nice seeing it outta my own pair of eyeballs this time around," Bill chuckled. Ford narrowed his eyes, biting his tongue… but stayed quiet. The demon frowned.

"Not very talkative today, are we?" he probed, growing more impatient. "I know what you need - a joke! Everybody likes jokes…" Ford glanced back at the demon, not liking where this was going one bit.

"What do you call an old man with third-degree, deep-tissue burns and severe nerve damage from prolonged electrocution?" Bill bit his upturned lip triumphantly as Ford's pace finally grinded to a halt. The scientist's head hung low as his balled fists laughed as he finally delivered the punchline. "DEAD in 15 yea-"

Before Bill could even blink he was on the ground, skidding across the broken, muddy ice as Ford pinned him down like an angry wolf, his eyes dilated like that of a hungry predator about to devour its prey. Bill laughed in Ford's face, not even fighting back.

"And we've reached our limit!" Bill grinned wildly as he writhed under Ford's weight on his arms. "Go on, I deserve it! Do your worst, Fordsy!" Ford pulled back his fist, the sound of his speeding heartbeat ringing through his ears as he saw RED… when Bill opened his mouth and the sound of Stanley Pines' own terrified scream rang out through the air. Birds scattered as the cry echoed across the landscape.

Ford's breath hitched as he froze in place, glancing up at his balled fist in horror. Bill stared up at him, thoroughly entertained.

"Yikes, Ford - that's your own brother's clock you were about to punch out! And here I thought you were supposed to be the good guy!" Ford snapped out of his state of shock as he looked down at the grinning demon and suddenly pointed a finger at him, inches from 'Stan's' face, Ford's voice cracking as he laid down the law.

"You listen to me, Cipher, and you listen good! These little games are over or so help me I will make sure you never get home." Bill simply stared up at Ford, wide-eyed, as the author's face grew even closer to Stan's possessed one. Ford narrowed his eyes, his voice becoming quieter and more threatening by the second. "And I can personally guarantee you that if Stan were conscious right now, he'd be more than happy to let me beat that smug grin right off of his own face!" Bill burst out laughing.

"Stan is conscious right now, genius! Why don't I just ask him about that myself?" he responded with a cock of his head, as Ford's jaw slackened with shock.

"What exactly do you mean by conscious?" he asked carefully. Bill sighed.

"I mean he's conscious inside his own mindscape prison, like I was before. With the notable exception, of course, that he doesn't have to do any forced manual labor in there," Bill responded casually, before chuckling. "In fact, Stanley was under the impression that I'd already done away with you, to which I assured him that as much as I'd like to, I couldn't, seeing as you've been charged with playing the white knight." Bill smirked as he thought back on the conversation he'd eavesdropped on in the middle of the night. So ironic.

"I want to speak with my brother then," Ford suddenly replied, serious as a heart attack. Bill burst out laughing, much to Ford's annoyance.

"Oh sure, Sixer! Let me just demonstrate to your very irritating brother how to reclaim his body! I'm sure he won't try to switch out constantly or anything!" he snickered, dripping with sarcasm. "I mean, how stupid do you think I am?"

"Apparently stupid enough to shake hands with a gloved, five-fingered hand," Ford responded smugly. Bill stared back at him, dead-panned.

"Fair enough, I walked right into that one," Bill shrugged, or as much as one could shrug when they were pinned down by a sixty-something-year-old man. "Look - I'd like to call a truce, Sixer. And as a sentiment of my good will, I'd be willing to deliver a message to Stanley." Ford raised an eyebrow.

"How do I know you're actually going to deliver it?" he asked skeptically. Bill rolled his eyes.

"You'll see my mouth moving, genius," he replied annoyedly. "And if you wouldn't mind getting off me now, that'd be swell. My butt is starting to go numb." Ford released his grip on his 'brother's' arms and stood up, offering a reluctant hand to his enemy as Bill slipped and skidded on the ice, finding his footing as he stood up. Ford didn't want Stan getting back a body with a broken hip, anyway.

"Tell Stanley that we've called a working-truce, that I'm okay, and that I'm working on a device to get you out of his head," Ford instructed him.

"Aye aye, Capitan," Bill replied with a half-assed salute. Ford recoiled as Bill's eyes rolled back into his head. "Alright, Stanley, I have a special message to give you from your br - WHAT?" Ford looked to Bill as his eyebrows shot up like rockets. "How did you… WHERE DID YOU GET ALL THIS?!"

"What's going on?" Ford asked frantically, pulling on the collar of Stan's coat…

… but Bill was far too busy gawking at the bright lights and giant speakers, blaring classic rock, outfitting the Fearmid. The cage was empty, along with an open shackle in the center of it.

Below his murderous gaze were Teeth and Eightball, looking very guilty and VERY nervous, as they looked towards Stan, playing air guitar with a can of Pitt soda in his hand in the center of the room. Stan looked up at the eyeballs as if he hadn't noticed them until now, just for the gag.

"Oh hey, Bill!" Stan exclaimed cheerfully, taking a long sip of cola, exhaling, then wiping his lip. "How's it hanging?"

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

And now things are about to get VERY interesting... Hehehehe

See you next week, though probably not by Monday again! I'm absolutely shocked that I've been updating so regularly, but this is the first time I'm posting without any chapter overlay, so it may take me a bit longer than normal to write this one. It's gonna be a really fun chapter, though - get ready for Bill at the airport :) #trainwreck